


To Stop The Darkness

by aliencatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Series, Rent Boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencatt/pseuds/aliencatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a hunter is becoming unbearable for Dean Winchester. Then he sees someone who he thinks can make him feel whole, for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know that this has been done before but hopefully not enough that you won't enjoy my take on the, in this case, Sam rent boy thing.

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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan. 

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==000==

Dean pulled the car over to the curb and just stared. He could do nothing else, letting the motor idle as he just sat and stared across the street. He was beautiful, the kind of person people would call an Angel. Dean would have too if he had believed in such a thing. It was hard at this distance to tell just how tall he was, standing on his own in the pool of light streaming down from the streetlamp as if spotlighted. Stood casually, weight on one hip, he was just surveying the street. Slim narrow hips were hugged in so tight low jeans, the pale blue t-shirt tight across his chest which, as he moved, was not long enough, exposing a strip of pale skin on a flat belly.

Dean's breath fled as he became mesmerised by that strip of flesh, his eyes only being drawn away as slim fingers tucked too long hair, darker than his own, brunette, almost black in the false light, behind a delicate ear. Once more he thought the word, 'Angel'. But the image was of a Botticelli Angel, not one clothed in armour and fury as in a cathedral, or cute and fluffy as on a hallmark greetings card.

He wondered what he should do. Wondered if the youth was lost and needed help or wanted to go for a coffee. He wondered if he would want to come back to the hotel. Undecided, he just sat and stared, until a car pulled up blocking his view.

How could he have been so stupid? Thinking the boy a vision from Heaven when he was a rent boy, a street hustler. Anger welled up in Dean as the lad got into the car and it drove slowly around the corner into a darkened alley. He was fuming but unsure who or what at, himself for being so ridiculous, being mesmerised by a whore, or the boy for being one?

He became aware of his surroundings, realising the street was crawling with them and, as he looked around, another caught his glance and headed across the road to him. Dean pulled away from the curb feeling disgusted, not truly at the hustlers for doing what they had to do to survive but at himself as he so nearly turned the Impala into that alley, wanting to grab the boy and pull him away from whatever pervert had got his hands, or worse on him.

And if he did, just what did he want to do with the lad? Was he so different? It had been hard to judge his age but knowing a thing or two about the seedier side of life hazarded, he was young. The expiry date on a rent boy was short. The appeal soon wore off as younger meat was always just around the corner. He could not fool himself in to thinking that he had any intention of saving the boy from a life of prostitution. He was not that noble, because, as he had stared at the 'vision', his thoughts had been anything but altruistic. He drove away, not looking back.

=0=

It did not prove easy to forget the boy. He had spent the rest of the night sat morosely in a bar wanting the noise and alcohol to drown out the thoughts in his head, much as he did every night. He wished John was here but he was off somewhere with some woman and he did not want to think what the pair were up to. Thoughts of his father and sex did not sit well. Like many a child, he was convinced parents stopped having sex after they were born but Dean knew different. That was another trait he had gained from his lone parent, random, frequent pick-ups, along with the killing skills.

Things were bad lately. Very bad. There seemed to be a never ending carnival of freaks and nasties that needed putting down and both he and his father had ways of dealing, ways of numbing the pain. Alcohol, curvy women and sex. But now? All he could see was a beautiful boy, shaking his ass for Lord knew what lecherous bastard. He hoped he was okay. Enough, and swinging from the barstool Dean headed unsteadily back to the hotel.

The walk unfortunately, cleared his head. He had gone to the bar on foot as he had had plans to get completely wasted but sobering up, he had had to rummage in his duffle for a bottle hidden from his father. He was fed up with the constant bitching, the constant, 'You need to be on your game, Son. You're too young to keep drinking like this'. It was not as if John didn't fuckin' drink too. It took a while and most of the bottle but, finally, oblivion took him.

=0=

"What?" just once he would like to wake up without seeing that disapproving expression. John just dropped his eyes back to the newspaper on the table before him, leaving Dean to struggle to sit up without saying a word. His father's pointed silence was as bad as the bitching so Dean stumbled into the bathroom, finally getting undressed.

Half an hour later, immerging clean but in no better a mood, he dressed and asked John, "You ready for breakfast?"

Raising brows at him in that infuriating manner that was pure John Winchester he replied, "Breakfast? It's gone two in the afternoon."

"So?"

"It's a bit late for 'Breakfast' don't you think?"

"Fine!" grabbing his jacket from the floor and keys from the nightstand, he slammed his way out of the room ignoring his father as he called out his name, telling him that 'things had better change around here'.

=0=

He knew he should be hungry but his stomach churned with anger and bile and he needed a drink. But it was 'gone two in the afternoon' and, no matter how damned annoying he was, he knew his father was right. His drinking was becoming a problem. It was making him moody and reckless, not to mention his new attitude to his father. He could just not follow him around like the obedient puppy anymore. He was a grown man, he was twenty, not twelve.

But, damn he felt rough. Reaching the car, he unlocked the door getting in then, just sat there, kind of hoping his dad would appear at the window, praying he would not. He did not know what to do so, switching on the ignition, pulled out and just drove.

Feeling the wheels on 'his baby', not that the Impala was officially his, he had to wait for his twenty first for that, turning on the blacktop always soothed him, but they were in a city not out on the 'open road'. He had to concentrate on the traffic which he found hard as his mind wondered dangerously. After two near misses, he pulled to the curb and just sat. Then, with a, "fuck it", he rummaged in the glove box coming up empty then checked under the seat. Damn it! Searching the back, "Bitch!" he cursed as he realised John had emptied out the stash of alcohol. He sat back, hands hitting the steering wheel none too gently.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked around for a liquor store and saw him, saw where he was. Was it coincidence or had he purposely driven here? He did not know, but what he did know was he was as beautiful as he remembered and could do nothing but watch as the tall teenager sauntered over to the Impala, swinging his hips suggestively.

A tap at the window and Dean could not move, continuing to just stare. There was a laugh and the face smiled in at him. "No need to be shy," he was told, "I won't bite, unless…?" there was no need to finish the sentence. Thinking this was so not a good idea, Dean leant over and rolled down the window then sat back as the teenager folded his arms, leaning on the door but not too far into the car.

The boy had worked these streets for over a year now, way long enough to have learnt many a lesson. "So? What can I do for you?" his voice was low and pleasant with an accent Dean could not immediately place but not native to this northern town. He just licked his lips still gazing at the youth.

Dean had never paid for sex. Hell, he had never needed to. He himself had been offered money often enough not to be embarrassed or too angry about it but looking at that face, he wanted him and knew the only way would be to pay. There was no chance the youth would give away the only thing he had to sell. And Dean had fuck all cash in his pocket. It was not as if this was planned. He dragged his gaze from that mouth to the eyes, beautiful but cold, hazel eyes. "How much do you…?" he found it hard to ask, "How much?"

The boy had a good idea what the man wanted, as he had done nothing but stare at his mouth, but he asked coyly, "That depends on what you expect me to do." 'Anything you damn well want' he thought. The man was fucking hot. What the hell did he need to pick a Rent Boy off the street for? He should be charging not paying for it. He only looked to be a few years older than himself. And that mouth? Those lips would earn him a fortune.

Fuck, he could be a freak! A psycho or something. He so hoped not but he would have to be careful. More so than usual. He had never seen him or the car around here before. He hoped he was not be a beater or worse, a biter. The bruises always put the next trick off. But he was, gorgeous.

Dean was lost. He felt so stupid, so inept. This was ridiculous. What was he doing negotiating for sex? But he could not take his eyes off him. There was just something about him that had Dean yearning but not just for a fuck. He reminded him of someone but could not think who. He wanted him, wanted to hold him, wanted to make life right for him. Being this close up had changed his mind. He wanted to save him.

He groaned internally. That was what all those serial killers on the cops shows wanted. He should just drive away and forget about him. He leant to the side pulling his cash from his pocket and counting said, "I've got twenty seven dollars?" and looked up hopefully.

Sammie was good looking and popular. So his prices were marginally higher than most of the boys up and down the block. For that he would normally allow a bit of a grope and a quick hand job but this guy was, as stated, gorgeous. He opened the door, wondering if everybody could hear the squeal, and jumped onto the bench seat, grabbing the money and slamming the door behind him amused at the wince it produced on the man's face. "Sorry," he said lightly, laughter in his voice. He had a good feeling about this punter, one he had not had since he was fresh enough to think some rich sugar daddy would come along and take him away to a better life, keeping him all to himself and treating him right. Treating him well. At fourteen he had been so naive. Not now though.

Dean, still unsure what he was getting, started up the engine. He coughed nervously then asked, "Where to?" The boy leant over close to him and pointed to the alley he had seen him use the night before. He was disappointed, stupidly, but pulled from the curb turning as directed.

It did not look good in the alley and he winced at the thought of his baby sitting here amongst the trash. He looked at the other cars 'parked up'. 'Dean, what the fuck are you doing?' he asked himself yet again.

"Up to the top and left." The boy's smooth hand pointed out the way then came to rest high on Dean's thigh.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard at the contact. He did not know why the boy was having such a damned affect on him. It was not simple lust. Although that was something that had rarely happened in reaction to a male, he would have understood and recognised the feeling. This was something…more. There was something emanating from the slim youngster that had Dean saying a revealing spell under his breath, just in case of beguilement, watching from the corner of his eye.

Nothing happened but the boy smiling at him inquisitively.

"What's your name?"

"My name?" slightly surprised that the punter would care, "Sammie….. Unless you don't want it to be?" seeing the expression darken on the man's face.

"No…. Sammy's fine. Um… Dean." Crap! Why did he have to be called that? Of all names, why did it have to be that?

"Pleased to meet you, Dean," he said brightly, ignoring the slight tensing on the man's brow.

'Bet you are' Dean thought uncharitably, 'in more ways than one'. Then felt himself go hot. Not blush, he did not do that but he felt hot none the less.

"Just here, under the bridge. No one will disturb us here."

"You sure?" as he pulled up and killed the engine.

"Yes," and he moved along the bench seat to press against Dean's side, his right hand reaching across to the opening on Dean's jeans.

Dean had been relieved on leaving the alley but was still convinced people would be watching them, no matter how deserted the area appeared. They were in a deserted lot next to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. Just another run down area of city. There were plenty of those these days.

Warm breath on his face and he turned his head to look at the boy's, at Sammie's, face, so close to his as his hands had his jeans undone, one moving inside. The boy smiled at him but it never reached his eyes. He was a professional after all and no matter what Dean felt, to him, he knew, he was just another sleaze paying for sex.

Sammie was sure the man wanted him to go down on him, the way he was still staring at his mouth but if he could get away with just a hand job he would. Of course. Give as little as possible for as much as you could get. That was what Hutch had taught him and taught him well, the hard way. He pushed his hand onto the man's prick, semi hard already but he did not move in response, just carried on staring at his mouth. Guess he would have to suck it then. He had already taken the money and he was honest, no matter him being a whore. He moved back slightly, twisting on the seat so he could bend down, careful not to hit his head on the steering wheel.

Realising what the boy was doing, Dean stopped him, pushing him gently, but firmly back against the door and pulled the hand from his prick. Not that he would not mind the attention but all he had thought about since seeing Sammie the day before was, what would it be like to kiss that mouth? It had him mesmerised. He felt he was under a spell and wondered briefly if he was. It would explain his behaviour. He slid out from behind the steering wheel and placing a hand on the side of the boy's face, leant forwards wanting to find out.

Sammie pulled away from him, a worried look on his face. He seldom if ever let one of his tricks kiss him. Not that many wanted to. But the man, he had forgotten his name already, was looking at his mouth again and ran the thumb, of the hand now cradling his face, so delicately along his bottom lip as he licked his own. It unaccountably sent a shiver down Sammie's spine and he slowly, hesitantly, leant forwards to press his lips against the man's, admittedly, beautiful full ones.

Dean let out a breath just before their lips met. He had thought the boy would deny him this intimacy that did not seem part of the price. As Sammie softly kissed him, he knew that he was indeed under a spell, because for the first time since forever, the screaming heartache quietened.

He pulled back, looking into the boy's hazel eyes as they gazed back appearing almost confused. There was no guile. No discernable plan, just a kind of mystery and deciding he would worry later, Dean leant forwards once more, this time capturing those lips, kissing him tenderly but insistently, his hand running around his head into the thick soft hair.

Sammie let the man continue to kiss him as he conceded he was damn good at it. And the way he was holding him, cradling his head as his other hand gently slid around his waist, said anything but whore. He kissed him as a lover would, or how he thought a lover would. He had never had one.

He and Billy sometimes got it together but that was more often than not for comfort, helping each other chase the memories away after a bad trick. And they never went 'all the way,' just touching.

No one had ever kissed Sammie the way that this man, this Dean, as the name came back to him, was kissing him. He kissed him as if he was worth something. As if he was worth kissing because of who he was. He felt a smile inside as he recognised a feeling of hope and possibility then quickly shut it down. There was no hope. He was just a paying customer, and a cheap one at that. Sammie knew he could not afford to forget that. So he would just enjoy the moment and maybe, think about it from time to time.

Dean sank into the feel of the other's mouth on his, not pushing, not forcing, but enjoying. He had not kissed someone for this long, without losing clothes, since he was at school and even then as a junior. Slowly he pulled back, sucking on that bottom lip then letting it go, smiling at the pout on Sammie's face. He was wise enough not to believe it but liked it anyway.

Sliding both his hands to the lad's slim waist, he half lifted, encouraging him to climb onto him, to straddle him and he did smiling down at Dean as he settled onto his lap, thrusting his hips a couple of times stoking Dean's ardour. He pushed his hand back into that long hair and pulled him down for another kiss, this time much deeper, pushing his tongue into the hot mouth, eliciting a moan from the younger as he responded.

Sammie pushed his hands down the back of the man's leather jacket, forcing it off his shoulders as he, too, deepened his kiss, pushing his own tongue against the other's, fighting to get into his mouth. He was actually getting turned on himself and just went with it, deciding to get what he could before it went sour. It would. It always did.

Dean's hands held the boy's sides, pulling him, intensifying the rhythm he was setting as he moved in his lap. He slid down on the bench, his hands moving to grasp the small tight butt over the denim, the jeans being too tight to let him in.

Sammie pulled his right hand from down the man's back as his left slowly lifted up his shirt and t-shirt wanting to feel his skin. The man did not stop kissing him. No longer gentle or tender, but wet and hot as he repeatedly thrust his tongue in, in time to Sammie's grinding onto his lap. He lifted up slightly, catching the man's swollen bottom lip between his teeth as he pushed his right hand back onto the man's now, significantly, hard prick.

The boy's hair kept brushing Dean's face as he moved up and down on him, panting into his mouth as his body, his hand and mouth all moved on him, his rhythm becoming faster as he worked his hand on Dean's prick whilst rubbing against him. His knees slid on the bench seat but he kept using Dean to pull himself up, his hand clutching his back.

Dean's own hands travelled up the boy's back, pushing up the blue cotton, feeling his ribs, his shoulder blades as the arm and hand continued to work him. He had to stop kissing him, his breathing becoming laboured but still he rested his lips on the other's, his younger mouth open breathing on him. It had all become so frantic, so sexy, so damned 'hot' and Dean felt his body draw up as it prepared for that release. He spared a thought that he hoped the boy would cum too as he rubbed his own bulge against the hand stroking Dean then he did not give a fuck as he tensed and came with a groan into the boy's mouth as his spunk pumped onto his hand.

Sammie continued to move on him but slowing, knowing it was too late and he would not to get to cum too. It was rare that he wanted to but he had gotten caught up in the moment and jerked the softening prick in his hand a couple more times making the man shudder then collapse back and he let him go, wiping as much of the spunk off his hand onto the man as he could get away with. The grasping hands left his back and one moved to catch his jaw between thumb and fingers and lifting his head, the man gazed sleepily into his eyes. His other hand moved to stroke softly over Sammie's own cock through his jeans, making his eyes widen in surprise and Dean smile.

"Want you to cum too. Keep moving." And as he did, the older man pressed, rubbing his erection through his jeans. It did not take long as, pushing, rubbing against the man's hand, his face was cradled once more and brought down to be kissed. He thought it was the tenderness of the kiss, slow deep and so sexy that did it to him and Sammie came in his underwear, sobbing into the man's mouth.

Dean let the boy go and he sort of slumped onto him, his head on his shoulder, breathing hotly against his neck then relaxed licking his lips. He was not too sure, never having been with a pro before, but he was a bit surprised at the amount of involvement. He had thought he was to get a quick, disinterested hand job but now he was knackered in that good, well sated, way and the boy looked fucked. He slowly wrapped him in his arms as he would a lover and waited till the bubble burst.

Sammie slowly came back, getting himself under control and hardened his heart, putting back up those barriers that amazingly he had let slip. He levered himself up on the back of the seat and climbed off his 'trick' not looking at him and sat back down, tight against the door. "Take me back, please."

"S..ure," confused at the sudden distance and, fastening himself up, Dean slid behind the wheel and started the engine, continuously glancing across at the boy who sat, arms wrapped around his waist, staring out of the side window, his face hidden from him.

"Here. Stop here," the boy commanded as they neared the exit to the alley he had turned down not knowing what was to happen. Dean pulled to a stop and before he could say anything, the boy had the door open and was gone, the slam of the door crashing over Dean like a vicious backhanded slap. He just peered ahead for a moment then pulled the car from the alley, looking to the left and saw him being dragged along the pavement by the upper arm, the man holding him looking ugly and angry.

There was a short conversation and Sammie pulled money from his pocket, handing it over. The 'gorilla' shook the money at him, shouting something. Sammie stepped back and his reply must have been the wrong one as he was slapped across the face, hard enough to make Dean wince and open his door to go help him only to have it slammed back by a thin body and as he looked up, another of the hustlers appeared in warning, "Don't. You'll just make it worse for him," then quickly moved away, heading back to the curb.

Realising he was just passing through a different world, Dean pulled out into the light traffic and reluctantly left Sammie to his fate.

=0=

"Where the fuck have you been?" grabbing hold of Sammie's arm, dragging him along the pavement just because he could.

The boy looked up into the ugly, seething face of his 'protector', as the pimp liked to be referred to as, and awaited the sourness. "With a client," he answered, another preferred term.

Hutch held out his hand and Sammie reluctantly pulled the crumpled money from his pocket. "Is this it?" waving twenty dollars in his face.

"He was a few dollars short. But I did him a quick hand job anyway. Its only five dollars short." His voice fearful, pleading understanding. If the bastard did not believe him and decided to strip search him, as he had before, and he found the seven stuffed in his briefs, he would pay, pay dearly for it.

"A quick hand job? You were gone over half an hour! That should 'ave taken ten minutes, max. What the fuck were you doing?"

"I told you. But he took ages. Couldn't get it up." The slap stung.

"Then you should've worked harder at it! Your regular client was here. The one that pays a damn site more than twenty, fuckin', dollars."

"I'm sorry,"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Sir. I am. I'm sorry, Sir." He was trembling and it was not just for show. He was scared.

Hutch looked to be a little mollified. "Well, you should be," and he handed over Sammie's earnings, less than half. As he had been stiffed five dollars, it was not coming out of his cut. "Right, get that ass moving. That's two hundred bucks you've got to make up!" he stroked Sammie's reddened cheek, "If you're short, I'm gonna take it in trade," and he moved off to check on his other 'employees' leaving Sammie to stare at the dirty sidewalk, desperately holding in tears he had not let himself shed since he was twelve.

=0=

"You okay, Son?" John asked concerned. Dean had been in a strange mood since his return to the hotel and had sat staring out of the window barely speaking.

"Sure," he replied not wanting to have to deal with John's recent, continual concern over his 'emotional health'.

"You've been staring out there for over an hour. You sure you're okay, Son?"

"Yes!" lifting the bottle to his lips taking a drink just to piss his Dad off. And to stop the hollow pounding inside. It had started up in the background as soon as Sammie 'fled' the Impala and had started up in earnest as soon as he saw that freak with his hand around Sammie's arm.

"Right! Have you at least eaten something?" trying to stop the anger from entering his voice. John had only just realised he had missed something changing within his son, who now seemed determined to drink himself to death.

"Eat this!" giving him the finger not even bothering to turn and look at him.

"That's it! What the hell is wrong with you?" grabbing at his son's shoulder, swinging him around on his seat.

Dean looked up into the so angry face of his father and realised what he had just done. Horrified, he dropped his head, "I'm sorry, Sir."

"So you should be. What is it? What's making you act like this?" What they needed was to move on. He had to find them another hunt, get back on the ball. He had thought what they needed was a little R and R, he knew he certainly had. These last few months had been exhausting and he had felt they needed down time. But now he was not so sure. Dean was becoming restless yet seemed to spend all his time either in a bar or in bed, alone or not.

Bringing the ever present bottle up once more, then thinking better of it, Dean put it down on the table. He would have to keep his eye on it though or else it would be gone when he next went for it. John was costing one, Mr. A. Butler a fortune in wasted booze. He tried to think of what to say to his father. Of a way he could explain what he was feeling and why. The problem was, he did not understand himself.

This life had never bothered him before. Growing up he had known no different. It was what they had to do. They had to find and kill the thing that had destroyed their family. Track down and some how eliminate the thing that had killed both his mother and his baby brother. And until that day, they would kill anything else that did not have a right to live.

As teenage years hit, it had been cool to be the hero, to know that he was a fighter on the side of all that was good. A kind of Avenging Angel in a leather jacket. Even if he could not tell the chicks about it, he knew, and his father knew.

But now? It was not enough. With each kill, the satisfaction he had felt had begun to be hollow. So they were saving the world, destroying one 'evil son of a bitch', a phrase he gotten from John, after another, but what about him? What was really in it for him? Some nameless gratitude? That did not keep him warm at night. That did not fill the empty space that was growing inside him, day after day, mile after mile. He needed more. He just did not know what that more should be.

He sighed looking up at his father. He could not answer him, he did not know the answer. He just shook his head and repeated, "I'm sorry, Sir," adding sadly,"I just don't know."

Mollified only slightly, John Winchester shook his head and told him, "Well, when you do know, do something about it. I need you active, attentive and able to watch my back. Enough with the moping around. Whatever it is, deal with it!"

"Yes, Sir," after all his father was right, as usual.

Grabbing up his jacket, John headed for the door. "Come on. You may not want to eat but I do and I'm not leaving you behind this time."

Dean just looked up at him but seeing that look gave in and climbed slowly to his feet. He did not have the energy to argue, to contradict. Maybe a burger would help with that.

==000==

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Dropping John off at the hotel the next day, after another late breakfast, Dean pulled away before his father had time to get the inevitable question out. His father did not need to know where he was going. He felt better today, not having drunk himself to sleep. Instead he had stared at the ceiling, feeling again the boy's lips on his, remembering the way he had ground against him, had panted into his open mouth. And he had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, his first since, he could not remember when. As soon as he awoke, realising how good the sleep had been, he determined to see the boy again.

That gave him pause. Just how old was he? Hopefully older than he looked as he guessed his age about, sixteen? Not younger, please, no younger, but realistically, it's not as if he had 'ruined' him, the old expression popping into his head. He was not ruined, he told himself, he just needed someone to help get him away from that life.

But there were many reasons causing a person to turn 'pro' and just as many reasons stopping them from leaving. He did not think the kid was on drugs but would not blame him if he were. Vicious circles were so easy to fall into and so hard to climb back out of. And realistically, what could he do? It was not as if he could just pick him up and drive off with him. Even if the kid allowed him to, it was the kid that had to get himself out of the life. If not, a trip in Dean's car would be just that. He would just take the life with him.

Dean laughed. Who the hell was he kidding? He was having enough trouble saving himself at the moment. He was burning out. He was twenty years old and he had had enough. What use would he be to anyone when he could be killed at any moment? If he carried on as he was going, he would be putting anyone near him in danger. John was correct. He had to sort himself out.

Now though, turning onto the strip, he wondered would the boy be out at this time of day? Or was it a slack time for the 'trade'? He had no idea, but pulling up to the same block as yesterday, he saw him immediately, standing with the other one, the one that had prevented Dean from interfering the previous afternoon.

Sammie looked up at the sound of a car, loud and purring, just like the man from yesterday's. He hid the smile as he saw the black Chevy. He had come back for more. He had better have come back for him. And, brought more cash. A lot more. He had gotten him in to so much trouble with Hutch and, although his regular had comeback for him an hour later, he had been angry and Sammie had had to take a fisting, something he detested even though it earned him extra he could hide from his pimp.

Billy motioned over with his chin, "Your slow riser's back."

He leant in to whisper conspiratorially to the only person he remotely trusted, "There's nothing slow about him. He actually got me off without me thinking about it."

"Well, you'd better move it before Gladys over there steals him from under your nose."

"Not a chance," and kissing Billy on the cheek, made his way slowly over to the car, smiling leaning down as 'Gladys' strutted off spouting invective. He pushed his hair back watching as Dean's eyes followed the movement. Yeah this man wanted a boy, wanted him, not some half done 'trans'. Not bothering to say anything, he pulled open the door and gracefully slid inside.

Once more Dean winced as the kid slammed the door oblivious then slid straight up to him, breathing huskily, "I'm glad you came back," sort of meaning it. He pressed himself against the older man, though he had to be no more than twenty, twenty two, and compared to most of his 'clients' that was young. But whatever his age, Dean had to be just about the best looking punter he had ever serviced.

There was that lawyer that turned up once a month. He may be good looking but his fists hurt. He paid for the privilege and Sammie always got two days off after but that was because no one wanted to pay for a battered hooker. He was due at the end of the week but he did not think about fists as he concentrated on this man. He even smelt good.

"Where to, Sam?" Dean asked then pulled away from the curb, the name bitter on his tongue.

"Sammie!" with an eye roll. "Same as yesterday?" he suggested. "Depends what you want." Looking over into the backseat he added, "There's plenty of room in the back of your beautiful car." He did not really like the huge thing but he was not going to admit it as it was obviously valued, being so well looked after.

Dean stared straight ahead, his hands tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. The last time he had been with someone in the back of the Impala it had been an High School Sweetheart and he had thought it love. Now it was to be a whore. He had to keep reminding himself that Sammie was only with him for the money in his pocket, no doubt totally unaware that he had banished the dark visions, the bad memories from constantly playing in his head. Years worth of memories.

But whore or not, Dean wanted that mouth on his. Wanted to feel his heat, his passion. He wanted to amerce himself in him. Just for a while, he wanted to know nothing but the feel, taste and smell of this beautiful boy pressed up so tight beside him.

Pulling into the same space as previously, Sammie told him to drive on further, turn the corner and into the abandoned building. He was suspicious but Sammie just said, "It's hot out there," but he knew sometimes Hutch came to spy on him and he did not want to share this mark with anyone, even that much.

Dean sat looking at the smooth pale face as the boy's hand slid into his jeans pocket, the same one he had fetched the cash from yesterday, "What have you got for me today?"

"Enough for what I want," mesmerised by a mole by the boy's nose. He wanted to touch it with the tip of his tongue. He tilted his head to the left noticing the boy had a couple more, by his mouth, on his cheek. He had a random weird thought, wondering if they would all taste the same.

"And just what do you want?" still talking softly, kneeling up on the seat, leaning forwards, pushing his hand down onto the prominent bulge in the man's jeans, smiling, knowing he was 'gagging' for him. His mouth breathing so close to his but he just sat there. Why did the man just sit there?

The youngster was so beautiful but why the pretence? Dean wanted him, was here willing to pay for his 'company', so why the pretence that the boy wanted him too? He had had enough of lies and things being one thing, pretending to be another. He moved quickly, pushing the boy off him, back against the door, holding his throat and saw, not fear, but a wariness cross the boy's eyes as he sat tense, watching.

Moving to hold the side of his face rather than jaw, Dean pulled the hundred dollars from his pocket and forced them into one in the so tight jeans Sammie wore.

"There's your money. I want your mouth on my prick. I want you on your back, naked, legs wrapped around me as I fuck you. What I don't want is you to pretend that you actually want it too. Don't lie to me. Just give me value for money." And he surged forwards pulling Sammie's face close to his and kissed him.

Sammie did not return the kiss, turning his face away, pushing Dean off him. Dean sat back breathing hard, staring at him. "Fine. You get what you pay for," bitterness in his voice. He should have known he was just another asshole. "I don't kiss my 'clients' 'n' if you want to cum in my mouth you're wearing a rubber. And you're damn well wearing one if you go near my ass!"

Dean said nothing. He just sat breathing deeply, trying to fight down the surge of anger he felt. He wanted to kiss him, wanted it so much, maybe more than anything else but that was ridiculous. The boy was a damn whore and he was there for sex not love. He pushed those lips with his thumb, wanting to wipe away the scowl as they were set in an angry line. He wanted them pliant, giving, hot and luscious as he knew they could be.

He had not been pretending, well, Sammie conceded, obviously, but out of all the sleazy creeps he had to go with, he was glad that this one had come back and above the others, he did want him. Getting a trick that he actually felt an attraction to was as much as he could hope for. It was not as if he could do anything else. Be anything else. No one was going to fall in love with a hooker. This was not the movies. People used, fucked, beat and killed hookers. They did not fall in love with them. They did not rescue them. The only one that could do that was himself. He was not stupid, just scared and scarred.

He could read, write and stuff but who was going to give a real job to someone who had not been to school since he was fourteen and had nowhere to live other than a cheep hotel room shared with three other hustlers? All he knew how to do was suck and take it in the ass and deal with the pain and occasional beating.

Obviously he had not asked for this life and he had managed successfully not to fall into the drug trap. He had a substantial stash of money hidden and a plan for when his appeal diminished along with his saleability. He was going to get out before Hutch threw him out.

At present his 'protector' did. He kept the police and the known weirdoes away and that one, that had slipped through and put Sammie in the emergency room, followed him in but he knew it was only because he made the bastard money. Because he was popular. His tricks came back, again and again. If he did not know what would happen if he tried, he would go it alone but there was no such thing as independent 'contractors', not on these streets, not in this city. Hutch was good at his job. He had a lot of 'contacts'. There was no where else to go. Another town, another city? There would also be another 'Hutch'.

Now there was this one, that had turned out to be as much an asshole as all the others, just better looking and staring at his mouth again. That thumb rubbing his lips had been none too gentle but as Sammie thought it wise not to move, the pressure lessened as did the fierceness in the man's expression. Now he just looked so damn sad. He continued to sit still, his hand behind him on the door handle just in case, and waited till he was sure it was safe to speak.

Dean kept rubbing those lips, his thumb slipping inside to run along the bottom as the boy relaxed under his touch. Dragging his gaze upwards, he saw the eyes, so suspicious, so wary, intent on him and he felt shame. He could be frightening he knew. He had cultivated it as, not only another weapon in their 'career' as hunters, but as a defence for being brought up in a life on the road where he was young and pretty. In days gone by, if things had been slightly different, he could have been the one sat in some strangers car wondering if he was going to get out alive.

If something had of happened to Dad there were only so many ways a kid could make money. He tilted his head again, looking at Sammie wondering, "Do you have any family?"

"No!"

"Oh," and just carried on studying that face, lost in his appraisal, not hearing the bitterness in the boy's answer.

It was so damn beautiful to him. The skin was flawless, except for the moles which just seemed perfect and a slight discolouring on his left cheekbone which did not. His fingertips caressed it. A bruise. A fading bruise. It made him angry once more and yet again not sure at who. The eyes watching him were now a shimmering pale brown and he supposed had witnessed so much. They were the oldest part of him. He was curious that they seemed a differing colour. He wondered what the boy saw in his own.

His fingers continued exploring, running lightly over a gently curving eyebrow, shadowed as that soft dark brown hair acted a curtain down his narrow face. He brushed it back thinking he should have it cut shorter to make him look older.

Everything, the pale tight t-shirt, the long fringeless hair, the set of his jaw, were all designed, he realised to make Sammie appear younger than he was. Up close he looked sixteen, seventeen. Stood on that corner, so vulnerable and seeming defenceless, he looked much younger. All part of the appeal he supposed.

Dean must have moved closer as he could feel the boy's breath lightly on his lips as he licked them and he so needed to kiss him.

If the man did not do something soon, it was going to be far too long to get everything he had paid for done and Hutch was going to be angry, again. But even though he was still pissed off at the jerk, he loved the way he was looking at him. It was as if he was worshiping him, truly admiring him. He knew he was beautiful, hell, he traded on it, but this was different. A little freaky, but once more he felt drawn to him. He just made him feel worth something, something more than dirty cash. He so wanted him to kiss him. He ducked his head to look at the hand on his thigh, pressing firmly, but not painfully.

Dean sat back quickly remembering where he was as the boy looked down. He too looked at his hand, high on the boys thigh, and removed it as if burnt. Sammie looked up at him, "It's okay. You've paid for it," spoken quietly.

Yes, he had. For the moment Dean had been somewhere else than in a car, in a disused warehouse, having paid for a whore. His left hand felt the wheel of his beloved Impala and he moved back quickly, opening the door and swinging out, closing the door and leaning back against it, hands covering his face. He had had so many experiences of the sexual kind in this car over the years but not like this. It felt wrong to be using it to have paid for sex in. Dropping his hands, he laughed at the stupidity of it all. He was no prude and it was just a car.

What the hell was wrong with him now? According to the cheep plastic watch on Sammie's wrist, he had been gone for over half an hour already and they had not done anything yet. If he tried to leave, would the man try and stop him? But he would know where to find him and if Hutch knew he had 'stiffed' a client, he would take it out on his ass, literally. That man used any excuse to 'teach him a lesson'. He got out of the car slowly, wincing at the squeal of the hinges.

Leaning back, his hands on the perfect black, Dean just scrutinized the dirt in front of him, willing himself to just tell the kid to take the money and leave. He would go back and tell John it was time to go, go anywhere. They were meant to be resting up before the next 'bad thing' needed their 'attention' but maybe it was time to move on. A pair of blue and white pumps entered his vision, placed between his feet.

Standing before him, Sammie thought once more how sad the man looked. It was almost as if he had the fate of the world weighing on his shoulders and it was crippling him. Whatever was causing him such distress, Sammie knew he could make him forget, if only for a few minutes. He moved even closer, the man's eyes watching his face intently and, dropping his gaze to the man's lips, he thought 'fuck it', then let his body lie against him, sort of sinuously smoothing himself onto the larger frame from the groin up.

Dean did not move. He hitched his breath in as once more he felt Sammie's breath brushing his lips as he tilted his head up. The boy fixed him in the eyes then licking his lips caught hold of Dean's head, a hand either side and pressed his lips against his. And once more, as the boy began to kiss him, thoroughly, Dean's mind quietened. He thought of nothing other than the feel of those soft warm lips on his. He let Sammie kiss him, keeping his hands down at his sides, only lightly resting his fingertips against the boy's thighs.

Sammie could feel Dean relaxing beneath him, the tension giving way, leaving just the firmness of a well conditioned body turning pliant and supple. Still kissing him, pushing his tongue inside, he let it explore the man's mouth as he pulled his hands down to run over the sides of his chest enjoying the solidness, on to his waist and, pulling out the t-shirt, pushed his way up, under the clothes, hands pressing against muscled sides. He was determined to get as much satisfaction from this as he could because he just knew somehow that he was going to pay for the wasted time later.

Enough. Dean had to touch, had to hold and his own hands came up Sammie's back, pushing the too tight top up and out of the way. His mouth was so 'juicy', the kiss so hot and dirty but not sloppy. He stopped being passive and thrust his tongue into the other's mouth, taking over, taking control as he pulled the lighter frame harder against himself. His fingers spread out holding his head, the hair silky between them and his other hand travelled down and tried unsuccessfully again to slide inside those damn tight jeans.

The hand, holding his ass so tightly, pulled him forwards again onto the man, still leaning against the huge car and there was no missing the bulge of his arousal as it pressed into his belly. Reluctantly, Sammie broke back from the kiss, licking his lips, breathing deep and, before the man could move, he pushed his face into his neck to leave a quick bite, his hands coming back around to press either side of the firm belly and he pushed away slightly, letting his body slide down against the other.

Dean tried to recapture that mouth but then Sammie was moving, moving down and he just stared at the top of his head, hardly daring to move. After thinking about it for hours, he was going to experience that fantastic mouth on him, on his so, damned, hard, prick. He grew even harder just at the expectation and held his breath at the delicate fingers opening his jeans as Sammie crouched before him, on one knee in the dirt.

He should not be kneeling in dirt. He should be on a bed with crisp clean cool sheets and Dean decided… all thoughts fled as warm breath contrasted with the cool air as Sammie pulled him from the constrictive pants and holding him in his palm, looked up once into his eyes then took him in past those, kiss swollen lips. He could not help it, he bucked forwards at the first contact then leant back as the boy's other hand pushed against his hip.

Dean had to put a hand to that hair, running the length through his fingers again and again as he let the boy have his way. He knew what to do, after all he'd obviously.. 'stop thinking about it, just let him do what he could do so well'. And he could. He seemed to know all the places to press just right with his tongue, his teeth grazing that so sensitive spot with just the right pressure and he was not rushing him. He was drawing little whimpers and moans out of Dean which he would be embarrassed to admit to as his own.

Sammie knew that the knack to this, other than the bare mechanics, was to listen. He knew how to get it over and done with quickly by swiftly finding the right technique by the noises men made. Adversely, he could also tell from those same noise, how to bring real satisfaction. It was part of what made them come back, time after time, rather than try someone else. And he wanted this one to keep coming back, no matter his 'strangeness'. It was one he could deal with. Besides, the man's mouth could be considered a perk of the job.

As Sammie pulled back, easing off before it was over too soon, he idly wondered what it would be like to have that mouth on him. Would he be able to force the kind of noises he was making out of him? Probably he would never know but he could fantasise about it next time someone ineffectually went down on him. He was good at faking it too.

Those fingers holding his balls, gently squeezing, manipulating him. The tongue licking across, around, pressing at his slit as the lips held the head firm then it was hitting the throat and being constricted as Sammie swallowed around him. The boy's other hand had left his hip and was spread on his belly, thumb rubbing back and forth just above his prick, the nail so tantalising on his sensitive skin.

Dean's own hands were back, palms on the cool metal of the Impala because he so wanted to grab the boy's head and just fuck again and again into that mouth but he couldn't, shouldn't, and besides, he had never in memory had a blow job quite this good. Not so much the expertise, though there was that, but he was so turned on, so 'into' it, into Sammie that even if he had have been crap at this, Dean believed it would be one of the best he had ever had. He never wanted the feeling to stop but if Sammie carried on much longer and did not let him cum, he would literally explode or go insane or both. His whole body, his consciousness, was all being drawn to Sammie's touch. It was a glorious feeling, as if he had found a cure for a disease he had not know he had but was dying from. He was like a drug.

"Sammy," he panted, a hand resting on the back of the bobbing head, trying to be gentle, "Please!"

Sammie smiled to himself. As if he could not recognise the sounds of a grown man who could not stand the exquisite torture a moment more. Lifting up slightly, he put both hands on that quivering, so damn tight belly and let Dean cum, making sure it was in his mouth and not his throat. He had never gotten around to pulling a rubber from his jeans. He was kind of infatuated with the freckles and all but not stupid.

Spitting, wiping his mouth, Sammie rose to his feet, relishing the look on Dean's face. He looked fucked, his face laid bare, flushed and raw. Nothing was hidden and he moved to press against his side, carefully running a hand up under the grey t-shirt where he placed his palm on Dean's stomach, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing and pushed his face next to his, cheek against cheek, breathing hotly onto his ear, feeling Dean's breaths on his.

Dean swallowed, took in a much needed breath then swallowed again. His left hand snaked around to the bottom of Sammie's spine and he pulled him in close to his side. He was fucked. He just stood there breathing with the boy's hot breath on the side of his face. Leaning against the car, the boy in his arm, he wanted to stay here but coming back to himself, he told Sammie not to move and extricating his arm, he 'put himself away'.

Dean turned to him and Sammie wondered, what now, as he had closed his jeans. He was not that much older than himself so surely he could get it up again soon. He had paid for his ass and although he could quite happily not get buggered right now, he could not afford to give half the money back. The man's hand covered his own, still on Dean's chest and an arm encircled his back once more.

Those damn lips looked so luscious now, truly sex swollen and Sammie's clear golden, hazel eyes were searching his own. Dean smiled and leant forwards to unashamedly nuzzle Sammie's neck. The boy stretched it for him and he put his lips to the pulse in an open mouthed kiss then gently sucked up the skin, quickly letting it go. He was sure hickies would not be appreciated. Then he went for that mouth once more.

He kissed him slow and deep, tasting himself in there, once more thinking how wickedly hot and dirty Sammie's mouth was. Dirty in the good, get your rocks off way, not unclean. He did not want to think about all the others but, too late, the thought was there.

He wanted him all to himself. What would his dad say if he took Sammie back and said he was coming with them? Would the kid even want to come with them? He stepped back separating himself from the boy. He was being selfish. Sammie was safer being a whore on the streets than with the Winchesters. No one was safe around them.

"I'll take you back," and he got into the car, not looking at the lad again.

Sammie tottered losing his balance, opening his eyes as Dean removed himself. 'What the…?'

==000==

TBC...


End file.
